A few months ago I wrote a piece for a book and today I received word that it's up on amazon already for pre-order. The book is a collection of essays on mother/daughter relationships. I'm pretty sure there will be a reading in NYC when it launches too, which I hope to go to.
Until then, here's the first paragraph of my piece:
Rhonda Schwartz's mother used to smoke thin ladylike cigarettes and say curse words (the bad ones) while she made lunch. She would ask point blank about how far I ever went with a boy, while simultaneously rubbing gel blusher on my 12-year-old cheeks. It was shocking, daring -- and I kind of liked it. Mrs. Schwartz would also get undressed right in front of us, and model scanty clothes, asking earnestly our opinion of her new hot pants outfit or tight metallic sweater that she wore with no bra. She would take hour long bubble baths in the afternoon and chain smoke while heating up frozen eggrolls for us. Everything she did was in full make-up. I had never seen a mother like her before. I wondered, could mothers could even do that?
